


Adventures in Experimental Dalliances

by redser



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Crack, Eventual Smut, F/M, Masturbation, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-24
Updated: 2014-08-29
Packaged: 2018-02-10 07:27:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2016270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redser/pseuds/redser
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock is a third wheel on John and Mary's date "for a case", but the evening does not go quite as he had planned......</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Anniversary

**Author's Note:**

> Un beta-ed, so sorry for any silly mistakes.....

John fiddled with his cutlery and looked impatiently at his watch.  
“Right. So remind me again. Why exactly are you here?”

Sherlock was sitting across from John, with a large napkin covering his face, a pair of glasses that he had pick-pocketed from a passing waiter placed over it. Overall, the face-garb gave him the appearance of a very studious ghost. He elicited a muffled collection of noises in response to John’s question.

“Yeah, mate, listen I can’t understand what you are saying. Also, I would really appreciate it if you would stop following Mary and I like this to nice restaurants on our dates.”  
Sherlock quickly raised a large hand to the front of his face, grabbed the napkin and the glasses in one and flung them with force over his shoulder. They landed on a table two tables behind them and in the quinoa salad of a 15 year old girl who had been complaining loudly to her bored looking parents about not being able to go skiing in San Moritz with her boyfriend. Her mouth dropped open after the items flew into her dish. For the first time since she had arrived in the restaurant, she was speechless. 

Sherlock did not even notice the sudden silence in the room that followed the landing of his unwitting projectile. He was already mid-way explaining to a stunned looking John, the rationale behind his presence at John and Mary’s anniversary dinner. 

“…..and anyway John, I need to observe first hand the way people interact on a date if I am to successfully pull this off.”  
John had been staring at the teenager who was now taking selfies with the glasses-napkin-quinoa-combo. His gaze eventually returned to Sherlock.  
“Sherlock, are you talking about the Devanney case?”  
“YES!”, replied Sherlock, much too loudly for the 8pm Saturday dinner crowd at The Landmark. John made a shushing gesture at Sherlock who was now melting the bridge of yet another pair of pick-pocketed glasses with his lighter.  
“When did you even get those…..?”

Sherlock glared at John from over the spectacles he had now folded in two.

“Never mind” said John as he raised his hands in surrender. He did not want Sherlock to fly completely off the handle and make him lose the table that he had to bribe several of Stamford’s friends to reserve for himself and Mary at such short notice. 

He knew that Sherlock was frustrated with the Devanney case, to which they had come to a dead end 4 days ago. The case involved a wealthy widow, who had been killed in suspicious circumstances by an unknown assailant. The widow was well known about London as a part-time philanthropist and a full-time long-suffering wife to her philandering husband. However, since her husband’s untimely (and also somewhat suspicious) death, she had been dating a string of significantly younger men in some of London’s more lavish establishments. This continued for a period of about 18 months until her dalliances came to a swift and rather surprising end when Mrs Devanney had been found dead in Hampstead Heath wearing nothing but a cowboy hat and a pair of Louboutins. Shortly after this discovery, Lestrade had invited Sherlock and John onto the case. Sherlock and John then went on to interview everyone connected to the late Mrs Devanney. They had retraced the events of the night of her death on numerous occasions but all their efforts were of no avail. At one point, Sherlock thought that he had found a rhinestone in the parlour that implicated the butler. Unfortunately, the butler was just a part-time drag artist named Fleur de la Sioux. The rhinestone was easily explained by his ‘Dolly Parton Goes to a Vegas Strip Club’ act. After this crushing defeat, Sherlock had become desperate, resorting to tactics that he would have never normally engaged in. He simply refused to let the game defeat him. His latest plan was to understand the ‘internal dynamics’ of a date, in order to understand more about Mrs Devanney, and possibly the motivations of her killer. And this latest obsession was what had led to the uncomfortable set up that John was faced with on his date night…..

Just as John managed to prise the lighter from Sherlock’s frankly ridiculously large hands, Mary arrived, showcasing the old-school Hollywood glamour that she always pulled out of the bag for big occasions. 

“Ah, Mary! Delighted you could make it!”, declared Sherlock as he clasped his hands together in glee.  
“Sherlock, this is our wedding anniversary dinner. Mary is the person who is meant to be here, not you……”  
“Yes, yes, John. Right, let me take your jacket Mary and then I can begin observing you on a “date.””  
“Did I just hear you use quote marks in that sentence Sherlock….?”  
“Shut up, John. Right so, Mary. Just carry on as if I am not here. I may take notes at some stage. Measurements of pupil dilation. Temperature and turgidity of genitals. Nothing too invasive…..”

Mary, who had just sat down, suddenly stood as she looked over Sherlock’s shoulder and waved.  
“Ah great, she’s here.”  
“What? Who’s here? What’s going on? This is really interrupting the schedule of my experiment Mary……..”  
Sherlock could identify the White Musk deodorant from the Body Shop and anti-dandruff shampoo before he could see her.  
Sherlock didn’t bother turning around while he rolled his eyes and muttered exasperatedly, “Molly...”  
Mary sat back down and smiled as she adjusted her diamond bracelet and reached for her favourite Rioja that John had ordered before she arrived.  
“Well Sherlock, you were asking a lot of questions about our night out tonight so I deduced that you might be up to something like this. I decided to take your experiment to the next level. Tonight, you are going to do some proper empirical research. You are going on a date with Molly.”


	2. On Stage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The players take their places.....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for the kudos - so nice to get them as this is my first fic! :)  
> it's pretty late here, so again, apologies for errors - it's been a long day!

Sherlock crossed his arms, sank back into his chair and pouted.  
“I am not going on a date with Molly. You cannot be serious”, he hissed at Mary under his breath.  
Molly came closer to the table to greet the group. Sherlock’s back was still defiantly turned to her as she chimed her usual cheery over-eager-to-please greeting.  
“Hullo everyone. Gosh, don’t you all look lovely. Mary, that dress is amazing.”  
Then her voice got slightly shaky and high-pitched.  
“Hello….uh…..Sherlock. Hi.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes dramatically and turned to tell Molly that she was wasting her time and she would be better off planning her cat’s marriage or whatever it was she spent so much time doing on Pinterest when she should have been working on the cultures he had asked her for.  
As he looked back at her however, he completely lost his train of thought. 

The Molly that he was used to seeing, the one who wore what could only be described as a series of a-symmetrical rugs and insanely patterned smock items, had been replaced by a slinky lady who had been poured into an equally slinky dress.  
Sherlock stared up at her, brow furrowed, the prominent crease at the bridge of his nose making an appearance. His mouth was wide open in astonishment.  
Mary cleared her throat and traced the rim of her wine glass as she smiled at both of them.  
“Yes, so I told Molly that it was important for her to dress for the part of Mrs Devanney if you were really going to get a sense of the dynamic you were seeking to uncover. Of course, Molly is much younger than Mrs Devanney, but I think you get a feel for her self-possession and sexual self-confidence from this outfit that I chose for her…..”

Sherlock zoned out from Mary at this point. His eyes roamed over Molly, cataloguing the changes that Mary had made to her for the evening. Molly was wearing a skin tight black shift with lace covering the décolletage and arms. Molly’s usually bare fingernails had been lacquered in a deep crimson polish. Her dainty little hands clutched a jewel encrusted clutch. Sherlock noticed however that there were still faint traces of talc around her wrists, from the latex gloves she wore most days. This however was really the only remaining clue about Molly’s true identity. In addition to the dramatic wardrobe change, Mary had subtly, yet deftly enhanced Molly’s delicate features. Her lips were painted in a true red colour and her cheekbones glowed from a combination of highlighter and blush. Her auburn hair hung loosely around her shoulders, at the front however, Mary had styled a 1950’s style pinned wave. Molly’s large brown eyes were also now framed in smoky hues of taupe. They shone with confidence. And if Sherlock was not very much mistaken, a crackle of danger…..  
She held herself differently as well. Sherlock now saw that she was in character. While she had stuttered in her initial greetings, it was now clear that she had finally stepped on stage. She had become Mrs Devanney.

Sherlock knew that Molly was not really a woman who lacked confidence per se. She was well accomplished in her area of medicine, and had maintained a fairly regular supply of boyfriends. (He chose not to reflect too much on what the particular variety of boyfriends she chose said about either Molly or himself, however.) He knew that it was really just his interactions with her that caused her brain to short-circuit and reduce her to a stammering mess.  
The woman who stood before him now however was not the Molly he was familiar with. She was embodying another woman entirely. She was well and truly in character as the femme fatale, Mrs Devanney. He could see it in her haughty expression, the way she turned her nose up slightly when she looked at him, and the way she flipped her hair as she glanced around the dining room, not paying him too much attention. It was such a transformation. It intrigued him. He suddenly considered whether this was the first time that Molly had played a role, become another character, freed herself of the shackles of societal expectation… His mind then flitted to something that The Woman said about disguises being a mirror of one’s self. His methodical cataloguing was suddenly in dissaray. A stack of papers in the study of his mind palace fell over as his eyes narrowed on the way that Molly’s little hand rested on the slight curve of her hip, he focused on the way her muscle and flesh moved under the ligh fabric of the dress. For some reason, he now found himself noticing similarities between the colour of Molly’s nails and the colour The Woman’s had been as she grasped her riding crop that she had caressed his neck and mouth with…… He quickly batted these thoughts away and raised the index and middle fingers of both hands to massage his temples in order to help bring him back to the task at hand. 

As he started to open his mouth to speak to Molly, he realised that John, Mary, and Molly were all staring at him incredulously.  
“What? What is it?”  
John let out an exasperated laugh. “Mate, you have literally been sat their completely frozen for at least 3 minutes solid.”  
Molly flipped her loose hair over her shoulder, smiled politely and then opened her clutch to check her phone, evidently non-plussed at Sherlock’s 404 Error Code episode.  
This reaction caused Sherlock to gawp at her even more. Mary chuckled and winked at her husband. John smiled at Mary. He also looked ridiculously pleased with himself as he winked back at her while squeezing her hand.  
This did not go unnoticed by Sherlock who was now back online and calculating his next move. Sherlock was appalled by their overtly coupley display.  
“Well if you two insist on being entirely nauseating, maybe I will remove myself to carry out some further research with Dr Hooper.”  
John and Mary both immediately saw the double entendre in this statement and started giggling. Sherlock rolled his eyes. He looked up at Molly. She was still on that bloody phone, refusing to engage him at all.  
“Now where is that waiter? Honestly John, I have no idea why you insist on coming back to this place, the service here is truly appalling.”  
John was tempted to point out to Sherlock that the service had been particularly bad the last time they were all there together because Sherlock had unceremoniously risen from the grave after two years and impersonated a waiter on the night John was to propose to Mary, thereby taking a good 15 years off John’s life.

“O for heaven’s…….! Look at this!”  
Sherlock gesticulated wildly to two of the waiting staff who had crashed into each other sending half a dozen plates flying in the corner of the dining room. John looked over. He was quite sure that the two involved were the same people that Sherlock had stolen glasses from earlier, probably leaving them effectively blind as they tried to navigate the restaurant.

Once again, Molly did not even bother to look up at her phone or acknowledge Sherlock’s aggravation. Oooo she’s good, thought Sherlock.  
At this, Sherlock stood up abruptly and placed himself in the path of a young waiter who was making his way over to help his fallen colleagues. Sherlock leaned down and almost pressed his nose against the nose of the youth.  
“We need our table. Now. It’s booked under…..”, Sherlock glanced over at Mary, “…Watson…?”  
Mary nodded, smiled and poured herself another glass of wine. John gazed at Mary with what appeared to be a mixture of pride, lust, and deep love. Yes, Sherlock needed to get away from them before he surreptitiously slipped botulism into their starters….  
The youth gasped and backed away, trembling ever so slightly. It was like watching a wolf corner a lamb in a meadow. The waiter’s grey eyes widened and darted around the room, possibly looking for someone to come save him. When he realised he was on his own, he started to stutter.  
“Juh-juh-juh-just wuh-wuh-wuh-one mi-mi-mi-minute s-s-s-sir”  
He darted away abruptly and then suddenly re-appeared with two menus. His face was flushed and he had unbuttoned the top button of his shirt in what Sherlock could only describe as a wanton uniform code violation. Who was hiring these incompetents, mused Sherlock.  
“This way, sir!”, the young man sounded unusually high pitched. Sherlock remembered reading that this is what voices sounded like before people started crying. How interesting. The young man then bowed as he pointed toward Molly and Sherlock’s table. He really was nervous. Sherlock creased his brow and gave the waiter a sardonic smile. People really were so relentlessly, what was the word? Human.

Sherlock’s basic dating research had informed him that he should move the female’s chair to help in her being seated. He decided to stick to pre-1960s dating advice. He didn’t have time to properly traverse the thousands of feminist, post-feminist, and non-gendered dating guides that he came across on the internet. The whole dating area was a minefield and the research that he did for the case had reassured him of his decision to give the entire scene a fairly wide berth.

As he went to sit at the other side of the table, Molly had already engaged another waiter that was passing. He was a tall mixed race man with startling green eyes. Sherlock was suddenly struck by a fear that Molly would find Sherlock's eyes less piercing in comparison. Wait, why was he thinking that? Why would he think that at all? Sherlock shook his head and looked across again. The green-eyed waiter was pouring Molly a glass of champagne and laughing with her. She placed a hand over her mouth and touched his arm as he smiled widely at her. Sherlock scowled. He felt something. Something odd, but strangely familiar. Like when Mycroft had taken Redbeard to Hove with him on a trip with their aunt and uncle and cousins that Sherlock couldn’t come because he had the chicken pox.  
Sherlock cleared his throat loudly.  
“Yes. Thank you. We’ll call you when we are ready to order food.”  
Handsome waiter raised his eyebrows at Molly and shrugged slightly.  
“Yes of course, sir”, he said. “I shall return in a few minutes to take your orders.”

As the waiter walked away, Molly smiled slightly as she put her phone back in her clutch and leaned forward in her chair, her eyes boring into Sherlock. Once again Sherlock thought of a mirror. This must be what he looked like when he was deducing someone. He felt incredibly exposed. Totally out of his comfort zone.  
Suddenly he felt the top of Molly’s shoe tracing the inseam of his trouser leg, snaking its way all the way up to….Ooomph!  
Sherlocks eyes widened in alarm and…….something….else…..  
“Well Mr Holmes”, said Molly, even though it didn’t sound like Molly.  
“Shall we begin then?”


	3. Sherlock and Danica

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Setting the scene for a smutiful next chapter......

Molly wriggled her foot slightly at the inside of the top of Sherlock’s thigh.   
Sherlock nearly jumped out of his seat. He gripped the edge of the table with one hand, and Molly’s heel with the other, lifting her foot up and away from his lap.  
Molly chuckled as she lazily drew her foot back under her chair.   
She gave him an over-dramatic pout.   
“You’re no fun…..”, she said as she giggled and lifted her dessert spoon to her face in order to check her lipstick.

Who _was_ this, thought Sherlock as he watched Molly adjust her cleavage and fluff her hair.

A man in his sixties sitting across from them had dribbled his soup down his shirt while watching Molly hoik her boobs up in her dress. He caught Molly’s eye and she smiled and winked suggestively at him.

This clearly caught the man by surprise. He began to cough loudly. His wife handed him a glass of water and then turned to glare at Molly and Sherlock. Molly bit her lip and shrugged sardonically before collapsing into giggles. Sherlock did a double take between the older couple and Molly. He could not believe that currently, he was the one who was the one concerned about propriety of conduct in a social setting.

“Molly. What has gotten into you…?”

“Danica.”

“What?!”

“Danica. My name is Danica Devanney. Well Danica Duplass-Devanney, but all these people insist on calling me by my married name, darling.”

She really didn’t sound like Molly. She had that same strange mid-Atlantic drawl that Mrs Devanney had. Not that he had ever met Mrs Devanney while she was alive. He just knew her voice from the videos of her speeches at the various fundraising galas that she had run over the years. Molly had obviously watched the videos as well, to research the role. Interesting. Sherlock found himself suddenly enthralled by someone who paid the same attention to detail in research as he did…..

“OK….Danica. Tell me, am I playing myself in this…..eh…..scenario here?”

Molly raised her eyebrow as she looked up from the makeup compact she had opened.

“Of course darling, who else would you be, you silly little scallion you!” Then she reached across and booped Sherlock on the nose with the tip of her finger.

“Sorry, did you just see that Mary?” John had not been able to take his eyes off Sherlock and Molly since they had sat down at the table across from them.He waved a fork of salmon gravlax in their direction as he proceeded.

“Did you see what Molly just did there?! My god. What on earth…..?”

“John.”

“Hmmmm?”, John was still staring across at Sherlock and Molly

“John. And I say this with love. If you do not stop staring at Sherlock and Molly and start paying attention to me, I will leave you for that Jesse Williams look alike over there and I will take our daughter with me. I am not even joking.”

That got John’s attention. Most men with dates in the room were sitting up straighter and sucking their middles in whenever the handsome waiter wandered past. A gay couple in the corner were in fact were apparently each taking turns in flirting with Handsome Waiter, and then glaring at their significant other for doing so over the course of the evening.

“Fine. Of course. Sorry. You look beautiful tonight. That is a beautiful, eh, scarf thing?”

Mary laughed and rolled her eyes. “It’s a shawl you daft man. Come here you wally”

She gripped his chin gently and kissed him tenderly.

John smiled and blushed ever so slightly. “More wine?”

****************

Molly peeked at Sherlock from over the top of her menu.

“Darling, when do you think that they will take our orders? I am _famished_ ”

Sherlock had not even touched the menu because he was on a case. He turned up the side of his mouth in an expression of utter indifference and shrugged. Molly threw her head back dramatically as she rolled her eyes at him and turned the page of her menu.

“Listen Molly, em, sorry, Danica. Listen, since you are in character, we may as well retrace the events of the night of the murder, see if anything starts crystalizing at all.”

Molly folded the menu and reached for the wine list again, not seeming to pay very much attention to what Sherlock was saying. Sherlock’s brow furrowed even further, but he continued anyway.

“So, we know that Mrs Devanney, eh….Danica…I mean you…. I mean……whatever…..had dinner here with her companion. Then, afterwards, they were seen walking in the direction of Moonlight Howl, the drag club that, eh, your butler worked at.”

“Ah dear sweet Fleur,” said Molly as she waved at a waiter, “darling man. Always so good to help with re-hemming my couture.”

Sherlock raised his eyebrow once more. Molly was right, many of Mrs Devanney’s dresses had been re-hemmed. All with the exact same style of stitching, suggesting the same person had done them all.

“Right”, said Sherlock as he leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers under his chin, “hurry up and order something, I want to move on to what happened next that evening.”

Molly raised an eyebrow and brushed her bottom lip lightly with her thumb.

“O do let’s darling. I am ever so keen to see how you stripped me down to nothing but a cowboy hat and a pair of heels……”


	4. Cab Ride

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The reconstruction moves on to the next location.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yikes. I stayed up way too late doing this.....  
> Anywho! Enjoyz de smutz xxx

Mary drained the last dregs of the Rioja from her wine glass and clumsily replaced the glass on the table, nearly knocking over the flower arrangement in the centre of the table in the process.

She leaned back dreamily in her chair and gave a little hiccup.

John, who was polishing off the last of the tiramisu, sniggered at her as she covered her mouth with her hand and grinned.  
“O now now Mrs Watson, you haven’t been drinking have you…..?”

Mary put her finger up to her lips and made a shushing noise.  
“Hush Dr Watson, if the village elders find out, they shall tell my father and then I shall be done for!”

John rested his chin on his hand and gazed longingly at his wife through his own slightly drunken haze.

“They’ll make me marry such a wretched man, just to try to put me right! I shan’t do it, I shan’t!”  
Mary pretended to faint dramatically across her empty plate of crème brulee. John shook his head and smiled. Time to get his lady home before she started ordering sambucas and pinching Handsome Waiter’s arse.

John glanced around the room to look for a waiter to ask for the bill.   
His eyes wandered over to Sherlock and Molly’s table.

Molly was animatedly talking and gesticulating with her fork, while Sherlock reclined in his chair, fingers steepled before his mouth, eyes slightly glazed. John knew that expression. He was in his mind palace, either looking for something, or cataloguing something, or maybe both.

John read the situation quickly and surmised that there was probably no point in bringing Mary over with him to say goodbye. They needed to get back to relieve the babysitter, and in any case, John was keen to get his wife home, undressed, and crying out about how angry those village elders would be if they knew he was taking her like this across the kitchen counter like this….

John finally caught the eye of Handsome Waiter.  
“Alright mate, can we get the bill please? Quick as you like. Thanks.”

***********************************************************************************

“……and of course darling, it is simply IMPOSSIBLE to get decent Venetian lace anymore. So many knock-offs darling. All these frightful synthetic things. Simply GHASTLY. And, gracious me, don’t even get me STARTED on the quality of pearls these days…..”

“Danica.”

Molly, who was now Danica, slurped the last of Mojito number 4.  
“Yes darling?”

“Please do shut up. It’s time for us to go now.”

Molly’s eyes widened.  
“Ooh, you are a forthright one aren’t you? Well alright darling, but only because this place is duller than dishwater. Honestly sweetie, it is like the Dementors have been here and taken everyone’s will to go on. Have you seen those films darling? My step-daughter was wild for them, but I really wasn’t that…..”

Sherlock slammed a massive fist on the table.  
“SHUT. UP.”

Molly’s mouth opened wide as she started at him.  
However she quickly re-composed herself as she reached for her bag.   
“Well ok darling, no need to shout.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes.  
“Outside. Now.”

Sherlock took a wad of cash out of his pocket and peeled off £200. That should cover it, he thought. John had just left, but if he had seen him now, he would have started one of his rants that Sherlock always deleted. John should realise that Sherlock only kept money for emergencies. And when John was not around to pay for him…..  
Outside the air was fresh. Not cold, but it was pretty clear that the summer had definitely passed at this stage. Molly shivered slightly as she pulled her throw tighter around her.  
Sherlock’s scanned over her body.

“Mary really should have dressed you in clothes more suitable for chasing up a case.”  
“O you know darling, really after all that rum, a girl doesn’t really feel the cold. And anyway, I have something nice and strong and tall to protect me from the cold….”  
Molly slipped her cold little hands under Sherlock’s coat, circling her arms around his waist. The front of her body felt cool against his much warmer one. Sherlock could see the raised gooseflesh along the skin where her neck met her shoulder. When her hands had moved around his waist, they had moved back his suit jacket. Now he could feel her pressed against him through the thin material of his shirt, her nipples hard from the cold, moving against his chest. She pressed her cheek against his and he could feel the tip of her cold little nose brushing against his earlobe. An odd, but not unfamiliar sensation gripped the bottom of his abdomen, and then radiated further south until he felt a very familiar pressure in his trousers…..

Sherlock took a sharp intake of breath and pushed Molly away from him.  
He looked at her. Even in this dim light, he could see that her pupils were dilated, her little chest, moving up and down sharply from her quickened breathing.  
He frowned.  
Something was definitely…..off.

Sherlock moved forward to the edge of the pavement and raised his arm to hail a cab. When one stopped in front of him, he opened the door and beckoned Molly to get in. The wind had risen slightly, and his coat billowed and flapped around his tall frame as Molly gave him an audacious look, and then ducked into the taxi. He took the seat opposite her in the cab, with his back to the driver so he could observe her. He also sat there so he could keep her at a safe distance and keep her from trying anything else on…..  
Sherlock needed more data. In the cab ride to the club, he studied Molly further. It really wasn’t just her clothes and make up that were different. Her usual ticks and tells were all missing. Not once did she chew her lip, and she had not made any move to to chew at her nails even though he knew for a fact she did practically every five minutes. Her posture was also uncharacteristically straight, showcasing her breasts to full effect. Her dress had also ridden up slightly and he could see a garter belt attached to her stockings…..  
Sherlock shook his head violently and looked away focusing on the sign on the door of the cab that said “red light indicates doors are secure”. That was a song, wasn’t it…..?  
He heard a husky chuckle from across the cab.  
He looked up.  
Molly was now sitting directly in the view of his eyeline. Her knees were pressed together demurely, with her fingertips resting on her knees.  
“Were you looking at something….?”

Sherlock’s eyes trained on her shins. The stockings on her slim, yet surprisingly muscled legs, glowed under the dim streetlights that fell softly in and out of the cab as they made their way across London.   
Molly’s fingers then traced their way to the hem of her dress. She gripped handfuls of material in each hand and began to slide the skirt up her thighs.  
Sherlock’s gaze darted from her legs up to Molly’s face. Her mouth twisted into a dirty sideways smile. Then she ran her tongue against her bottom lip and grinned.

“Molly….! What….?”  
Sherlock looked over his shoulder to the cabbie, who was on his hands free, having a very loud conversation in Arabic. From what Sherlock could gather, he was arguing with his wife, who wanted to cancel their Netflix subscription to save money. Mr Taxi Man was apparently not going to give up House of Cards that easily. Though Sherlock had deduced that what he was actually worried about missing RuPaul’s Drag Race… In any case, he really was not paying attention to what was happening in his back seat. Sherlock was pretty sure that his head was blocking the taxi driver’s view of Molly. He suspected Molly was also aware of this.

Molly leaned her head back toward the rear windscreen and laughed softly.  
“Hmmm? What is it darling? Feeling……”  
Molly pulled her skirt up above her waist and spread her legs apart.  
“……uncomfortable…..?”

All the lights in Sherlock’s brain switched off and all that was left to guide him was the emergency lighting that led him to stare unabashed at Molly.

Her knickers were red and silky and just barely covered her sex. Slightly above the little scrap of material, her matching garter belt and suspenders strained slightly against her surprisingly full thighs. Sherlock noticed the delicate trace of gooseflesh and the downy white hair on her thighs at the point between where her stockings ended and her garter belt began. Molly slid down her seat and moved her legs further apart, her left arm draped lazily across the headrest next to her. Her right hand twisted the fabric of her skirt around her hand and yanked it up again as her hips bucked upwards and down again. Molly moaned. Sherlock could see a wet patch forming on her knickers at the point where it met her sex. He watched the creases of her skin where her bum met her thighs as she flexed her hips and wriggled in her seat. He thought about what it would feel like to trace his nose along those creases, to kiss them, lick them, suck them gently. What those silky knickers would feel like against his cheek and face as he did that…..

Molly’s left hand now started to trail its way from the seat next to her, down the upholstery, across to her knee. Her delicate fingertips traced their way along the inside of her thigh, halting above the point where her stockings ended, where she stroked and then squeezed the sensitive flesh of her inner thigh. Her head was now fully thrown backwards toward the rear window. She continued to stroke and rub here as she sucked in her breath through her teeth and let out a gentle O sound as she bit her lip. Her hand then moved to touch and stroke the crease that Sherlock had begun to obsess over. Suddenly, she moved her hand and grabbed the fabric of her knickers, yanking it upwards, then rubbing the taught line of fabric across her entrance and her clit as she ground against it. Molly’s breathing was heavy now and her chest was thrown towards the roof. Sherlock could see her pink folds peeking out from her knickers as she rubbed the material furiously against herself.  
Sherlock could feel himself straining against his trousers. He looked down at the ground and reminded himself that the body was just transport. He repeated this to himself like a mantra.

When he looked up again, Molly had now pulled across her knickers completely, leaving herself bare and open to him. She looked him square in the eye, raising an eyebrow in what appeared to be a challenge to him. Then she took the fore and middle finger of her right hand. She sucked at them, and then dipped them down, to her entrance, catching her breath slightly before she plunged them in fully and pumped her hand. She whined and rolled her head against the back of the seat as she teased her clit with her thumb.  
Sherlock licked his lips, thinking about what her hand might taste like now, how soft her folds might feel against his tongue, how she might shiver when he used his voice while he was down there, lapping at her. How she might respond to his stronger, much larger fingers inside her. He thought of the softness of her inner thighs pressed against his cheeks and his ears as he licked and sucked her to the point where they would definitely have to pay for Mr Netflix’s upholstery to be cleaned…..

No.   
Stop.  
Wrong.   
Stop. It.

Suddenly the lights flashed back on in Sherlock’s mind.  
He pulled his Belstaff off himself roughtly, and threw it over Molly to cover her as he moved to sit beside her.  
He grabbed Molly’s face firmly, but gently. He turned her now clammy and reddened face to look at him.  
“So Danica. Tell me. When it was that you possessed Molly’s body, and more importantly, when you are likely to bloody well bugger off and leave my pathologist alone?”


	5. The Moonlight Howl

The Midnight Howl was located in a part of Camden where there was very little traffic, of either the vehicular or human variety. It had started raining and anyone left on the street was diving in and out of doorways with their coats over their heads, trying to make their way to the next boozer without getting completely drenched. A girl in a pair of see-through Perspex stilettoes and strapless sequin dress was not fairing too well. At this stage, her candy pink wig had lifted clear of her skull cap and was now hanging down the back of her neck. Her boyfriend was about a hundred metres ahead of her, absent-mindedly flipping his dreadlocks over his shoulder as he texted in a doorway.

When the cab pulled up in front of the club, Sherlock pushed fifty quid through the partition in the cab and told the driver that he shouldn’t worry too much about the Netflix issue because his wife was sleeping with his best mate. Sherlock informed him that his wife was going to leave him in three, no…five days anyway. The taxi driver gaped at Sherlock open-mouthed. Sherlock gave him a hearty pat on the shoulder and told him to keep the change. It was not big deal. He had pick-pocketed the fifty off John earlier when he was being boring. 

Sherlock turned to Danica, who was now wearing both Molly’s body and Sherlock’s coat.  
“You. Inside. Now. We need to have a chat.”  
Danica rolled her eyes and pouted.  
“Fine. But you’re buying the Martinis darling.”

Sherlock held the door open as Danica, moving in Molly’s tiny body, stepped out of the black cab, onto the wet pavement. She was surprisingly steady on her feet for someone who had just hammered back five mojitos at dinner. Sherlock recalled Molly’s capacity to drink at John’s last birthday. She’d had two glasses of shandy, and then proceeded to sing the entire Spice Girls’ back catalogue. Shortly after this, she had vomited on Lestrade’s shoes and Sherlock and John had carried her back to her flat. Along the way, she had told them about how she was going to marry Mr Hooper from Sesame Street because he was a good man and also because she wouldn’t need to change her last name. Even Sherlock did not have the heart to tell her how unlikely it was that that plan would work out for her. 

Now as he watched her move along the footpath, Sherlock was again struck by the difference in her presence. Even though she was swamped in Sherlock’s coat, she strode confidently towards the entrance to the club, not even stumbling slightly in the enormous five inch heels Mary had put her in.

Inside, she shrugged Sherlock’s coat off her shoulders and threw it on the ground. Sherlock immediately snatched it up. That coat cost two bloody grand. But that was obviously nothing to Danica, who probably considered a Belstaff something one wore to clear out the stables. 

The Moonlight Howl was one of those clubs that had been recently done up to look like a 1920s speakeasy. The waiters all had ironic moustaches and waistcoats and the bar was dotted with low tables that had small fringed lamps on each of them. The bar itself was a large mahogany affair with further intricate carvings along the back walls, as well as on the ceiling beams. Areas in the bar were divided up with curtains made from swathes of heavy thick burgundy velvet, tied back with black silky curtain ropes. Sherlock noticed that though some patrons had made some jarring effort to dress in 1920s style, the majority of those there were in modern dress. This created the overall impression of an uneasy co-existence of two periods of time. Like a strange truce in a war over chronology.

Danica walked through the bar and casually lifted a martini off the tray of a passing waiter. She wandered over to a corner where two straight-backed armchairs faced each other in front of an elaborately carved fireplace. 

When Sherlock slid into the armchair across from Danica/Molly, she was sitting with her legs crossed, taking a deep sip out of the glass as she watched Sherlock watching her. The Molly that he knew was unable to hold eye contact for more than three seconds without becoming completely flustered and running away, making up some excuse about having to go check on records. Now as he stared at her steady gaze, he noticed the honey flecks in her irises, the strangely endearing way her nose curved upwards, and the way her thick hair pooled at her shoulders and glimmered in the soft candlelight. Strangely, he felt he saw more of her now than when Danica had exposed Molly’s body to him in the cab. Sherlock suddenly felt that same tension that he had felt in his trousers back in the cab when he had seen Molly’s body splayed across the back seat. He cleared his throat and shifted in his seat, angling his body away from the person sitting across from.

When Danica laughed, it sounded different to Molly’s laugh. It was not the giggle that he was used to hearing, but rather something throaty and husky, and not at all like his pathologist.  
Danica moved to place the now half-empty glass on the table.  
“O darling, getting a little hot under the collar again are we. I wasn’t sure that this little waif’s body could elicit such a response, but I was wrong. If I didn’t know any better, I would say that I had tapped into something that ran a little deeper….”  
“Shut up now please. No, actually don’t shut up. Tell me as succinctly and precisely as is possible for someone of your level of inanity, where is Molly, and how in earth this could have happened.”  
Danica gave an exasperated sigh and reached for her stolen martini again.  
“O darling you are. What is it you always say when a case doesn’t interest you? Boring. Dull. A four, at best.”  
Sherlock’s eyes narrowed on Danica and he brought himself forward in his chair until he was resting at the edge of the seat.  
“How do you know that I say those things? You’ve never met me before.”  
Danica laughed and drained the last of her Martini, immediately clicking her fingers at a passing waiter and pointing at her empty glass to indicate that she wanted another.  
“O darling. She’s still in here. I can hear her up here,” Danica tapped the side of her head, “rattling about, getting upset, getting scared, getting…..”  
Danica burst out laughing.  
“…..getting turned on. Really darling, you are not my type at all, but this girl has some sort of otter-alien-waxwork kink…..”  
Danica flicked her eyes over Sherlock again.  
“And I suppose, in your defence, you do wear the hell out of a suit and coat…”  
Sherlock’s arms were resting on the armrest of the chair. His fists had clenched tighter and tighter as Danica spoke.  
“Molly. Is still in there?”  
Danica rolled her eyes and inspected her manicure.  
“Ugh. Yes darling. Rushing about the place, getting so frightfully upset about everything. Her little brain really runs a thousand miles a minute. Ah yes wonderful darling, thank you ever so much.”  
The waiter Danica had beckoned earlier had returned with her martini. She gestured at Sherlock.  
“You can put this on the well-dressed otter’s tab, thank you darling.”  
Sherlock was well used to jibes like this from Mycroft growing up. Between the ages of 11 and 14, Mycroft had refused to call Sherlock anything other than ‘Ground Sloth’, and when Sherlock was 19, he had filled Sherlock’s college bedroom with stuffed otters on more than one occasion. He was working for the Foreign Ministry at that stage so it was particularly odd that he had bothered to take the time to do it.

Between the strange sexual feelings, and the public humiliation, Sherlock was really beginning to feel like an awkward teenager again. He couldn’t believe that it was Molly Hooper that was the cause of these feelings, however she might be currently infiltrated…..  
“Darling, how long is this going to take? I really need to go see my darling Fleur.”  
For someone who was effectively back from the dead, Danica seemed awfully keen to see her butler rather than try to avenge her death.   
“We can go see your butler together when you have answered some more questions.”  
Danica sighed and opened her clutch to search for something.  
“O well fine, yes, yes. But be quick about it darling.”  
“I’ll take as long as I need Danica”  
Sherlock elongated his pronunciation of her name to emphasise his general disdain for her.   
Danica looked up from her bag and laughed.  
“O darling, don’t get upset. Though you are a bit sexy when you’re angry, aren’t you…? I can see why Molly wanted to play with herself in front of you for fun. You are so deliciously…..responsive….”  
Danica had fished a cigarette out of her bag and it was now dangling at the corner of her ruby red mouth.  
“Come on darling, the bloody Nazi government won’t let us smoke inside anymore. Come outside with the other plebs and I’ll tell you what you need to know.”

************************************************************************************************************************************************************************

“You know darling, this place used to be a brothel back in the 1970s, did you know that?”  
Danica waved her cigarette at the building behind them. They were now in the side-courtyard where the roofed smoking area was located. Danica’s face was lit by the glow of one of the many gas heaters in the area.  
Sherlock was finding it increasingly difficult to see Molly anymore. Danica seemed to have consumed her entirely.  
“Yes darling. A high end brothel though, mind. Only the wealthiest and most notable stopped by here. Discreet location, known to only a select few. That’s where I met Mr Devanney you know darling.”

She cackled and took a long drag of her cigarette, exhaling in Sherlock’s direction.  
“I did well for a young foreign prostitute, didn’t I darling? That’s where I met Fleur as well you know. You’d be surprised to hear of all the famous people back then that much preferred boys darling. Fleur has had his fair share of leading men and Defence Secretaries swooning over him.”  
At that, she completely collapsed in giggles, only recovering after a few minutes. She took another drag of her cigarette. If Molly was aware of what Danica was doing to her body, she would be furious. Molly’s father had died of emphysema, and she was militantly anti-smoking. However, Sherlock had started to cut back on his nicotine patches, so to be in such close proximity of delicious tobacco fumes was a treat to his senses. He was relishing the chance to take deep breaths of the second hand smoke. In fact, he was becoming a little giddy from it. It took him a little while to regain control of himself and press on to the important issue right now: getting Molly back.   
Sherlock moved closer to Danica, until their faces were almost touching. She was taller than Molly because of the enormous heels, but Sherlock still towered over her. He lowered his voice and adopted his best alpha tone.  
“Danica. Listen very carefully to my questions and answer them as simply and nonsense-free as you possibly can.”

Danica quirked her mouth to the side.  
“Oo darling, I can feel Molly go all a-flutter when you use your voice like that….”  
Sherlock then backed Danica into the corner of the courtyard, his arm stretched over her shoulder as she now leaned against the wall in the un-lit part of the courtyard. They were now standing in an alcove that concealed them from anyone else out there. Sherlock leaned in even closer, his face now just a couple of centimetres from hers.  
He noticed that her face and neck had flushed like Molly’s did whenever he got too close to her. He saw now that she was pressing her legs together and squirmed slightly. He knew enough about human sexual responses to tell that she was turned on. He got closer still, leaning in so that the side of his face was pressed against hers as he whispered in her ear.

“Danica. How did this happen and when are you going to leave Molly alone?”  
Danica laughed, but Sherlock could see that she was breathing heavily now, her chocolate eyes much darker as her pupils had blown out. Sherlock felt Danica’s hand on his thigh, moving up slowly. She smiled coyly as she began to stroke his burgeoning hardness. She titled her head upwards, licking a stripe along his long throat, lightly kissing the small mole there. Then she nuzzled his cheek with her nose as she licked the soft part of his earlobe, biting it softly.

A guttural, almost animal sound came from the back of Sherlock’s throat. Suddenly, he spun Danica around, so that she was facing the wall. She pulled her arms up to brace herself against it. Sherlock moved up against Danica’s back, so that his now full erection was pressed up against her bum. He snaked his arm around her waist in order to pull her flush against him, relishing in the pressure of her soft little body against his. He stroked his other hand up along her toned stomach until he reached her right breast. He could feel that she wasn’t wearing a bra under the dress. Her nipple puckered under his fingers as he teased it. He felt the delicious pebbling of her areola under his touch. Danica whimpered, causing Sherlock to groan again loudly. He could now smell her arousal. It made every nerve ending in his body sing. He buried his face in the back of her hair and inhaled deeply, smelling coconut, something slightly medicinal, as well as Molly’s special scent. He reached down with his other hand and roughly pulled her dress up. 

He curled his body fully around hers and rested his nose at the point where her neck met her shoulder, feeling the rasping sensation of the lace there as he inhaled deeply. He pawed impatiently at the meeting of her thighs until she opened for him. He could feel on her thighs where she was tacky from playing with herself in the cab. He traced his hand up the inside of her thigh, along where her stocking ended and her thigh was exposed. He gripped the flesh there and then let go, loving the slight jiggle that caused. Danica leaned her head back and whispered encouragement to him. Her breath smelled of alcohol and cigarettes and something faintly acidic. 

Sherlock stroked the front of her knickers and then brought his hand up so that he could slide it under the waistband. The small patch of hair there tickled at his palm and fingers. He dipped his hand lower and finally felt her soft wet sex. He heard Danica’s breath hitch as he leaned the side of his face against hers. He closed his eyes. This was utter bliss. He could smell the wet limestone of the wall in front of them and he could hear the rain trickling down from the edge of the metal ceiling above them. In the distance, the Saturday night crowd were babbling and laughing, but other than the rain, all he could hear was Danica’s laboured breathing, occasionally punctuated with whimpers. He ground up against her, babbling nonsense into her ear. But it wasn’t Danica’s name he was mumbling under his breath. It was Molly’s. 

Danica knees buckled slightly as the intensity of Sherlock’s strokes increased. He pulled her closer again, now practically supporting all of her weight. Sherlock’s whispers now became increasingly possessive, repeating ‘my pathologist’, ‘my Molly’, over and over. Danica slammed both her hands against the grainy stone wall in order to brace herself as she writhed and bucked under Sherlock. Her body was now shaking uncontrollably. Sherlock slipped one, then two fingers into her, plunging them in and out, and then twisting them slightly, making her throw her head back and scream. Sherlock brought his other hand up to cover her mouth as he continued to finger her, grinding the heel of his hand against her clit as he did. Danica bucked and writhed under him like a wild animal. Finally he felt her pulse around his fingers as new flow of wetness covered his already damp hand. She had dropped her hands and her cheek was now pressed up against the damp wall as he stroked her through her orgasm, until she became too sensitive and pushed his hand away. When both their breathing had returned to normal, she turned to him, her dress falling back around her thighs as she did. 

Suddenly Sherlock saw her eyes glaze over and roll back in her head as she fainted. Sherlock caught her just in time. He leaned her up against the wall and lightly tapped her face with his hand.  
“Danica. DANICA.”  
Danica’s eyes opened. She looked alarmed and confused.  
“Sherlock? What’s happening?”  
She looked around, clearly panic stricken. “Sherlock, where are we….?”  
Sherlock gripped her shoulders as he bowed his head.  
Molly was back.


	6. Molly's Back

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aye, i've been away. My life's been turned upside down....(but in a good way:) )  
> I hope to update a bit more regularly from now on :)

221B was closer to the club than Molly’s flat up in Crouch End.  
After Molly’s fainting spell, Sherlock bundled her out into the street pretty much immediately. He didn’t look at or interact with Molly while he waited for a cab to hail.  
In the cab on the way over to Baker Street, Molly remained quiet. She avoided eye contact with Sherlock. She still wore the Belstaff, which she had wrapped tightly around herself as she gazed out at the passing cityscape, not really focusing on anything, away in her own world.  
She didn’t notice that they had arrived at outside Speedy’s until she realised that Sherlock was gently shaking her shoulder. If she didn’t know any better, she would have said that he looked worried about her. The last time that she had seen Sherlock look that concerned for someone’s welfare, it wasn’t for a person, but rather an object. She had seen that look whenever John tried to move Sherlock’s beloved violin out of the way in order to do the hovering. Sherlock looked that way when something he loved was in danger of getting broken. Molly furrowed her brow, and then nodded, opening the door on her side to get out of the cab.  
……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..  
Sherlock shut the door after them and began to undo his scarf. Mrs Hudson was in. Molly could see the light at her door, and she could hear the TV inside her flat. Mrs Hudson was cursing at the weather man who was promising yet more rain. Molly couldn’t help but chuckle to herself. Mrs Hudson had some mouth on her when irked…  
Molly looked up and realised that Sherlock had been watching her. In ordinary circumstances, he would have snarked at her to hurry up or to get with the programme by now. But now he looked tense, worried. When Molly had laughed, his jaw un-tensed a little, let the hand that was clutching his scarf fall to his side a little more.   
Sherlock cleared his throat and shoved his fists in to his trousers pockets, looking up toward the stairs. Molly nodded and turned toward the stairs. Sherlock’s coat was long on her, so she had to lift the ends up in order to navigate the steps without tripping herself up.   
Sherlock followed cautiously behind her.  
At the top of the stairs, Molly turned to him.  
“Sherlock”  
A pair of bright blue eyes looked up at her widely.  
“Sherlock it’s ok.”  
Sherlock reached out for the bannister, sagging against it as he lowered his head and shook it slowly.  
“Molly, I….”  
“No. Sherlock, listen to me. Listen to what I have to say.”  
Molly looked down and fiddled with one of the buttons on the front of Sherlock’s coat. She suddenly felt less brave after she had spoken so directly.   
“Will you just… “  
Molly looked desperately at the door to 221B. “Can you let us into the flat so I can explain more?”  
Sherlock straightened himself again and took the next few steps to the top of the stairs. He was now standing in front of Molly, incredibly close. He leaned down , the side of his face just centimetres from Molly’s. Molly’s breath caught in the back of her throat and she could hear her blood pumping furiously in her ears.   
Sherlock’s arm was at her side, moving down….  
Then she realised what he was doing.  
He was just reaching into the pocket of his coat, the coat that Molly was wearing, to get the keys to the keys to the flat from there.   
Molly started to breathe again, but her face was flushed, and she knew she was blinking faster than was considered normal. As Sherlock leaned back after finding the keys, he paused to examine her, quirking his head to the side slightly. Then, as swiftly as he had secured the keys from her pocket, her turned and opened the door to the apartment, striding in with as much purpose as he normally would, flinging his jacket and scarf in the general direction of the coat stand. Miraculously, both items seemed to find their way onto a peg.   
Well, Molly thought to herself. His perfect aim obviously explained why he never really looked creased or rumpled.   
Sherlock was now standing at his window, flicking through his sheet music on his music stand, clearly not focusing on anything.   
If Molly didn’t know better, she would say that he looked nervous.  
Molly shrugged the heavy Belstaff off her small frame and stood on her tippy toes as she hung it on the coat stand.  
She walked towards the armchairs that were facing each other by the fireplace and sat down in what had been John’s chair before he had moved out to Lewisham with Mary.  
“Sherlock, come sit down. Come sit with me.”

Sherlock looked over at her from the window. He looked so terribly sad that it hurt Molly’s heart to look at him.  
“Sherlock. Please.”  
Sherlock quickly flicked back to the music page that had been opened before he had started fiddling with the sheet music and swept over to his armchair, moving into it by leaping into the seat from behind, crouching there for a moment, and then lowering his feet slowly in front of him. He drummed his fingers on the arm rests and then looked up at Molly expectantly.   
Molly drew in a deep breath, and then exhaled.  
“Sherlock. I want to talk to you about what happened tonight and I want you to listen carefully, and I want you to not get upset.”

Sherlock crinkled his nose at her and jerked his head sideways.  
“Upset? What? Me? Upset? Dear God Molly, try not to be so ridiculous.”  
Molly rolled her eyes at this and snapped her own arms down to rest on the arms of the chair, mirroring Sherlock’s position exactly.

“Sherlock, I know what happened.”

Sherlock froze.  
Ha, though Molly. Not so chatty now, are you buddy…?  
Molly suppressed a smile and cleared her throat.  
“Yeah. I mean. It was while Danica was in control, but I was there. And I…..”  
Molly looked down at her lap and brushed an imaginary piece of dust away.  
“….I didn’t stop it. Or….I suppose…..I didn’t really want it to stop….”  
Sherlock let out a slight whimper, but as Molly looked up, he disguised it as a cough.  
Molly raised an eyebrow and laughed to herself quietly.  
“Yes well, anyway. I just wanted you to know that, even though I wasn’t fully….well…*there*, it was still. Well, it was still OK.”  
Sherlock looked put-out.  
“Only ‘ok’?”, he pouted.  
Molly turned her head and smiled in toward her shoulder.  
She cleared her throat again and looked at Sherlock seriously.  
“Sherlock, I want to tell you about the events of the night that I think that Danica possessed me.”  
Sherlock balked at this. “*Possessed* you? O Molly, really now you have been watching too many Hollywood horror films”  
Molly stared blankly back at Sherlock.  
“OK then Sherlock, tell me how you would describe what happened to me….?”  
Sherlock was suddenly quiet once again.  
“Right,”  
Molly tucked her legs underneath her as she settled in to spin her yarn.  
“Let’s start at the beginning, shall we……?”


	7. Fred

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little trip back to the distant past......1997!  
> I suppose the thing to remember is that people weren't able to get messages to each other as instantly back then as they can now....

“Earlier today… Actually…”, Molly looked at her watch.   
“Well, really, yesterday at this stage… Yesterday I went into the morgue even though it was a Saturday. Aresha had been out with the flu for most of the week, so there had been a major backlog in the cases. I don’t really mind coming in Saturdays, it’s usually nice and quiet and I can listen to my podcasts…..”  
Sherlock was giving her a withering look and was clearly on the verge of ordering her to bloody well get on with it.   
Molly took the cue, lowered her chin and cleared her throat.  
“Right. OK. Well, anyway, I had just finished sewing up Mr Ahmed, the road traffic accident victim who had come in on Thursday. It was about 3 o’clock at that stage… I was just filling out Mr Ahmed’s paperwork when I heard this really loud bang. It sounded like something really heavy had fallen over. The noise frightened me. But also, I mean… I was meant to be the only one in there that day.”

Molly paused for a minute to shift her position, moving her legs from underneath her and placing two feet on the ground. Sherlock’s face remained unchanged, inscrutable. He was sitting with his fingers in their usual steepled position under his chin, bolt upright, showing off his perfect and enviable posture.  
“So I went outside into the hallway. I was a bit worried in case people had broken in to steal drugs from the pharmacy. Mike had caught some kids doing that last March and they had given them a pretty bad black eye when he had happened upon them.   
“The light was on in the room with the, eh, the storage lockers. It probably wasn’t a good idea for me to head in there by myself, but that’s not really here nor there at this stage…  
“That’s when I saw her. Danica Devanney. Standing over her body.”

Sherlock let his hands fall on to his knees and raised his eyebrow.  
“Sorry, what?”  
“Mrs Devanney. She… well… what she used to be…was standing over her dead corpse…”  
“Molly, that isn’t possible.”  
Molly sighed and closed her eyes while rubbing her temples.  
“Well, I suppose, generally it’s not possible. But it’s not the first time it’s happened to me.”

*******************************************************************************  
*****SEVENTEEN YEARS EARLIER*****

Molly chewed her biro and stared out the window of her box room. She was mid-way through her A-levels and her concentration was beginning to lag. She still had Maths and Chemistry to get through, but she was finding it hard to get interested in differentials and chemical equilibrium right now. She stared out the window of her box room, out onto the estate. Some kids from the end of the cul-de-sac were messing around in a wheelbarrow that they had found at (stolen from) a building site.   
Wow, thought Molly, there really was fuck-all on the telly for kids over the summer.  
She groaned, leaned back, and stretched, flinging her pen on the desk which was piled high with random pages of yellow legal paper.  
She cracked her knuckles behind her head and looked at the clock.   
Half seven.   
Fred would be getting back from London around now. He had taken a job in a solicitor’s office for the summer before he was heading into second year law at Cambridge. They weren’t really paying him, so he had been getting the train in and out from Reading and staying with his mum and dad. Fred was a couple of years older than Molly, but was probably her best friend in the world. They were inseparable as children. Once, when Molly was five and Fred was seven, they had disappeared for hours. The whole estate was out looking for them everywhere. Her mother had been inconsolable, and her grandmother had said about 200 rosaries in the kitchen in front of all the blessed statues that she owned. Eventually, Mr Burgess who lived at number 58, found them in Molly’s parents’ shed, curled up together asleep, a copy of The Lion the Witch and the Wardrobe left open on the floor in front of them. 

Most of their friends teased them about being a couple, being in love with each other, blah blah blah... But Molly would be lying if she said that she never thought about Fred that way. But Molly was shy and self-conscious. She felt safe and happy whenever she was around Fred. There was no one in the world who knew her better than he did. She knew that he would do anything for her, in the same way that she would do anything for him. But she didn’t want to ruin their close connection by trying to force it to be something romantic. She knew that there had been a few girls at his uni, but there was an unspoken rule between the two of them that he would never bring them up.  
Molly gave one final stretch to knock out the kinks in her back and then leapt to her feet, grabbing her jacket. It was a typical English summer, so obviously freezing and constant pouring rain. She took a look out the window. It seemed to have eased out a bit for now anyway.   
As she bounded down the stairs she shouted at her mum in the kitchen, “GoinToMeetFredBackLaterKeepMeSomeDinner”,swiftly followed by a door slam. Her mum barely looked up from her copy of her copy of Hello! Magazine, documenting Princess Diana’s yacht holiday with Dodi Al Fayed. She didn’t even need to ask where her daughter was going. Off with Fred again. She rolled her eyes and poured herself another cuppa. Don’t bother asking questions Mary, she told herself, the kids will figure it out themselves eventually….  
Out on the street, Molly headed down toward the train station. Fred usually got the 19.09 from Paddington and got in at 19.41. Somedays, Molly would go down to the station and wait for over an hour to see if Fred was going to come in. Only a couple of the richer kids in the area had mobiles, so Fred couldn’t really contact Molly if he wasn’t coming in or was staying with friends in London for the night.  
Just as she was turning the corner to the station, she saw a familiar figure standing with his back to her. Tall and slightly gangly, wearing a suit that was simultaneously too large and too short around the legs. He was wearing a Wu Tang record bag slung across his torso. Molly giggled, wondering what the straight laced dudes in the city reckoned to that particular accessory… His mum had made him cut his hair before he started the job in the city, so he still had the look of a newly shorn lamb since his afro had gotten the chop a couple of weeks before. It was starting to grow out a bit, but she could still see the slight tan lines around the nape of his neck from when he had a more impressive mop of hair. She still liked the look of him from behind. All lean and wiry, but strong as well, with shoulders that were really starting to fill out quite impressively.  
Molly sprinted the last distance toward Fred and jumped up to smack him on the back of the head.  
“Hey loser!”  
Fred’s usual reaction was to immediately grab her in a head lock and tickle her until she screamed for mercy. She was ashamed to admit that she often yearned for this physical contact between them, just to feel his lovely hands on her, even if they did end up giving her a nuggie or a Chinese burn.  
But Fred didn’t turn around straight away. He flinched a little at her gentle smack, but his gaze was still fixed on something in the distance.  
Molly scowled and gave him another whack on his shoulder blades.  
“Uh? Knobhead? Helloooooooo? Earth to potato face?”  
Eventually Fred turned down to look at her. His face was puffy and wet with tears. He was bleeding from his temple.  
“Jesus Christ Fred! Fuck! What the fuck happened! Who did it! Come on, we’ll go down to my dad at the police stations and he will send out the whole of the fucking police to track them down and give them the bollocking of their lives…..”

Fred didn’t react. He just looked sad and shook his head.  
He raised his head and looked out into the distance.   
Molly looked over at what he had been gazing at. She walked closer to the fence that surrounded the area around the train station. Now she could see that all the people on the platform were crowded around one spot in front of the train that had just pulled in. She could see that most of the people had their hands clamped over their mouths in horror. One woman had fainted and a man in a rail uniform was slumped on the platform, sobbing helplessly. Something terrible had just happened.  
Molly turned to shout at Fred to get help.  
But Fred wasn’t there.


End file.
